


Apprehension

by dngrs_untld_hrdshps_unnmbrd



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Kink, Dominance, F/M, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dngrs_untld_hrdshps_unnmbrd/pseuds/dngrs_untld_hrdshps_unnmbrd
Summary: A sweet domestic kink one-shot between Zavala and a female Guardian.





	Apprehension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Littleshebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleshebear/gifts).



In the thin grey morning light he put his hand out to feel the other side of the bed, but found it empty and cold. Opening his eyes he raised his head and listened. From the kitchen downstairs he heard the soft click of heels on tiles, the rumble-bubble of the coffeemaker. He smiled to himself, and went to the bathroom.

His shower was meditative with anticipation and he took his time under the hot water and then at the sink with the open razor and shaving cream. They were of the old fashioned style, a present from her because she knew how much he liked classic implements. Sharp open razors. Heavy silver cufflinks. Aftershave from his favourite little retailer in Covent Garden.

There was silence from downstairs as he dressed for the day in a pair of black pinstripe trousers and matching waistcoat and a crisp white shirt. As he fastened the cufflinks he glanced out the window at the birds hopping over the lawn, the silent street. All was calm and quiet, the way he liked it, and as he thought about her he paused, picturing her waiting for him, and heat began to gather within him.

As he came into the kitchen he saw the table laid for breakfast. For one. She was sitting by his chair on the floor, kneeling with her hands in her lap and her head bent. She didn’t look up as he sat down and shook out his newspaper. He read the newsprint closely, ate toast, drank coffee. The kitchen was hushed. The clock on the wall ticked out the minutes.

Finally, he turned to her. She was demure and still and his eyes grazed the curve of her cheek, the line of her neck. Her only movements were the gentle but rapid rise and fall of her chest and one finger rubbing nervously over another. She was a cello strung a little too tightly.

He grasped her by the arms and pulled her up until she was on her feet, and he stood behind her, his body close to hers. He caressed her throat lovingly, and she tipped her head back, her eyes closing. His other hand smoothed over her behind and felt beneath her skirts. She was bare, and edged her feet open for him. Her folds were slick and heated, as he’d known they would be. It was the waiting. She liked it better than anything else, and how he loved to see her sitting so quietly, so patiently for him.

He pressed his fingers into her tight channel and his hand gripped her throat, cutting off her moan of pleasure. He worked his fingers deeper, twisting, finding the sensitive spot inside her and rubbing firmly, making her shudder in his arms. He was careful to ease off every few strokes as she was so close to coming and he didn’t want her there yet. His other hand drifted down from her throat to undo the top buttons of her dress, and he reached inside to grasp one nipple. It budded in his fingers and he twisted it slowly, lovingly, listening for her hiss of pain and pleasure. There it was, but soft, and when he moved to her other nipple he plucked it roughly and she yelped, and there was an answering clench around his fingers inside her.

The end of the table was clear and he pushed her down over it. He flipped her skirt up – she was wearing his favourite dress, he realised, the summery one in blue and white. Her face was turned against the wood and he pressed the flat of his hand heavily against her cheek, holding her in place while his other sought out the fly on his trousers. He was stiff and throbbing in his hand, needing to pierce her but still taking his time, rubbing the tip up and down her slickness. She edged back toward him, eager, and he leant more heavily onto her, holding her in place.

The waiting was working its magic on her, making her breath come in short gasps. He watched her closely, enjoying how the anticipation made her body tense beneath his touch, how swollen she was becoming against the tip of his cock. Finally he could wait no longer and with slow control he pushed into her, feeling her yield slowly to him as he buried himself to the hilt.

He paused for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her slick, tight flesh and the look of sweet agony on her face. Her eyes were closed and he knew she was focused entirely on him. She was exactly where he wanted her, and he began to fuck her steadily with firm strokes keeping up an even, relentless rhythm. His eyes never left her face, watching the pleasure flicker over it. Tension gathered slowly within her, squeezing him, tempting him to kick her legs wider and roughly take his pleasure, for the waiting had become unbearable for him, too. But kept a steady hand on himself as well as her, driving their pleasure higher by slow, measured increments.

He felt her approaching her peak, her cries become soft and desperate and her hands working on the wood, and he muttered under his breath to her. ‘Good girl, that’s it. Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?’

Her reply was louder, inarticulate cries, and then she was coming, her back flexing, the angle of her hips driving him deeper. She clenched rhythmically on him and he used all his weight and strength to keep the steady strokes up, riding it out, and then as her first orgasm faded he let go restraint. She'd waited so patiently for this and he knew how she craved this moment. They both did. Both hands went to her hips and he pounded her with abandon. He felt his own climax rushing up and his hard, hungry strokes goaded another from her. He pressed deep, his motions fierce as he came with a growl, one hand fisting in her hair and holding on tight. 

She was limp and flushed against the table top as he withdrew from her, tucked himself back into his trousers and pulled up the zipper. He took a moment to straighten his cuffs, his waistcoat, and then sat down.

With gentle hands he gathered her off the table and into his lap, smoothing the folds of her dress and kissing her panting mouth. ‘Good morning, sweetheart. I told you last night I was going to make breakfast.’

She nestled closer to him, taking deep breaths and clasping her arms around his neck. ‘I know. But I couldn't sleep so I came downstairs. I felt nervous.’

He'd wondered if that had been it. Usually when she wanted to do a little scene she sent him a text message while he was out, something flirty that ended with _sir_ , or by dropping to her knees before him and glancing up at him through her lashes. But apprehension had woken her up early and she’d wanted to make a ritual out of it, because it was soothing.

‘What time’s your flight?’ he asked.

‘Eleven. I get into New York at two pm local time. My colleagues are taking me out for an early dinner.’

He glanced at the dark red cabin bag standing by the door. It contained her clothes for the three-day conference trip, and her laptop with its precious research and presentation. ‘How are you feeling now?’

She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled. ‘So much better. Thank you.’

A warm feeling spread through him. His arms tightened around her and he kissed her temple. ‘Good, I'm glad. And you’ll be wonderful and impress them all, Doctor Linette Zavala. I love you.’

 


End file.
